


London Calling

by withthepilot



Category: Actor RPF, Glee RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-31
Updated: 2011-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written to fill the following prompt: "Limo sex cause they just can't wait—from the time Zach flew to London to see JGroff's play."</p>
            </blockquote>





	London Calling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joanne_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanne_c/gifts).



> Penned as a gift for joanne_c for the spring challenge at trekrpfexchange on LJ. My first time writing this pairing, so I hope it satisfies. Also, I did research on _Deathtrap_ , but the fic may still include some inaccuracies.

London in November isn't much colder than New York, but it's damp and it sets off a chill in Zach's bones as soon as he leaves the airport. Still, he's smiling like crazy, to the point that he has to force his facial muscles to relax. He doesn't want these regal-looking Brits to think he's some kind of crazed American who's arrived in their country with a screw loose.

It doesn't help matters that he has a text waiting for him on his phone that makes his heart sing: _Good trip across the pond, dreamboat? Can't wait to feast my eyes on that fine ass. Oops, I mean ARSE._

Zach smothers a giggle into his forearm, checks the time on his watch and mentally adds the five-hour time difference.

Just two more hours until he gets to see Jon.

Zach lowers the window, which lets a chilly breeze into the cab. The driver gives him a funny look through the rear view mirror and Zach smiles as winsomely as he can, adjusts the scarf around his neck. In a way, it feels like he can breathe for the first time since he started doing _Angels_. As much as he's loved throwing everything he has into playing awful, conflicted, truly human Louis Ironson, it feels good to take a step away—a big, international step away—and do something that's truly for _him_ , one-hundred percent. It's just a brief overnight trip, but it's something. Something to keep him going. And London has been calling for a long time now.

He licks his lips as he texts back: _GROFF. please tell me i can get my hands on you sooner rather than later. please please please._

The first reply makes Zach grin with giddyness all over again: _Omg, you're really here!_ But then the second isn't quite as pleasing: _Later, I'm afraid. Sex before a show messes with my head. Sorry, babe._

Zach texts back that it's okay, he understands, and really, he does; while he hasn't had the opportunity to have sex before a stage show in years, he knows that he feeds off his own nervous energy when he goes out there every night. An outstanding orgasm would likely melt his brain completely. And while he would love to have his way with Jon upon first sight, he's sure that Jon has a very specific process that can't be disturbed.

Yeah, he understands. But it still sucks. Zach adjusts himself slightly and sighs, inadvertently breathing in the smoke from the cab driver's cigarette. His mouth tightens in envy. If he has to wait for sex, he's sure as hell smoking _all_ of the cigarettes he can find in the interim.

*

The hotel is nice. Really nice. And, of course, they can't find his reservation. Zach keeps checking his watch, biting his lip as the very polite staff with their lilting accents scurry around and try to remedy the problem. After a while, the sound of his name coming out of their mouths—"So very sorry, Mr. Quinto," "We apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Quinto"—goes from pleasant to excruciating. He's about two seconds from snapping and kicking a hole in the front desk when a young woman finally offers him his key cards and wishes him a lovely stay.

Zach barely has time to throw his bags down on the bed, fish out a change of clothes and shower, before he's meant to leave to get to the theater. His hair is still slightly damp when he buttons up his coat to leave. Jon's put him on the backstage guestlist so they can see each other before curtain, even if it's for just a bit of smooching and not the actual sex that Zach would much prefer. He's running late, but he still makes time to stop in a shop and buy the cigarettes that the thick, wet air makes him crave.

It's a bit of surprise when he gets there and discovers that he's not on the list.

"No, but...what? My name should be there. Jonathan Groff said it would be."

"What did you say your name was?" the disaffected—and large, who knew they grew them so big in the UK?—man by the back door asks.

"Zachary Quinto." He purses his lips and stops himself from staying something stupid like, _Hel-_ lo _, don't you know who I am?_ He's famous, but he's not _that_ famous. Not like...Ian McKellen famous or even James Franco famous. Definitely not Mel Gibson famous, thank goodness for that.

The man flips through some papers and finally looks up with a shrug. "Sorry. Still not on the list."

"Let me call him," Zach says, immediately digging for his phone. "Can I call him?" The man shrugs again and Zach taps on his screen until he finds Jon's number. Then he waits...and waits. And huffs in frustration when Jon doesn't pick up. "Shit. I swear I know him. He's my—"

"Your what?" The man crosses his arms over his chest and arches a brow, waiting for the reply. For some reason, Zach goes silent. He could easily say "friend," which is totally true. He and Jon are friends. Very good friends. But they're more than that, too, even if they haven't put a label on it. _He's my...what?_ Zach thinks. _Fuck buddy? Lover? Ew, not lover. Boyfriend? Ugh, get over yourself and answer the guy already, will you?_

He lets out a gust of breath, which goes cloudy as it hits the cold air. "Look, can you just find him for me? Please?"

The doorman considers Zach for a few moments and then lifts his walkie talkie to his mouth. "Someone find Mr. Groff."

Zach sags against the brick wall, relieved.

When Jon does finally come out to greet him, it's fifteen minutes later and Zach has made his way through four cigarettes. He's hugging himself against the cold, shivering inside his coat. It's funny how the big, goofy grin on Jon's face instantly warms him. He's like sunshine, this guy. Jon pulls him close, kisses his temple, and Zach laughs into his shoulder.

"Oh, my god, you poor thing," Jon says, laughing as well. "You smell like my grandfather's den."

"I needed to do _something_ to pass the time, didn't I?"

"So you gave yourself emphysema. Good plan. Come inside, okay? I'll have Ingrid make you a cappuccino."

"Bless you, kind sir."

"It's the least she can do after not putting you on the list like I _told_ her to."

They wait until they're inside and out of sight of the doorman—Dave, who finally told Zach his name after five minutes of awkward silence—to turn to each other and kiss hello. Jon fists his hands in the thick fabric of Zach's sleeves and Zach slides his fingers into those thick, unruly curls he's missed so much. He rubs his cold fingertips gently against the warmth of Jon's scalp and licks at the crease of his mouth, requesting entrance. Jon obliges him with a sigh and it's good. More than good. Totally worth the entire day of travel it took to get to this place.

Jon pulls away slightly to murmur against Zach's lips. "I can't believe you're here."

"Of course I'm here," Zach says. He twirls a curl around his fingertip and smiles indulgently. "Just a hop, skip, and a jump away, right?"

"Ugh. Why are you so great?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Except there's the fact that you won't have sex with me." Zach puffs out his lip and Jon snickers, flicking it gently.

"Hell yes, I will. Just after the performance is over."

"Promise? Because after the day I've had, I'm pretty sure the universe is conspiring against my dick."

Jon grins and leans in to kiss Zach one more time. "Conspiring against your dick. I missed you, you jaded asshole. And I'm sorry that your name wasn't on the list, but I got you a great seat: third row center. And after I take my bows, we're going to go back to my place and I'm going to suck your beautiful brains out of your woebegone dick. Okay?"

"Jonnnn," Zach sighs. He sounds whiny, he knows, but it's been a long day. He tugs Jon a little closer. "I'm horny."

"And I'm late for makeup. Matthew and Rita are going to freak." He extricates himself carefully and kisses the bridge of Zach's nose, which is unexpected but not unpleasant. "Enjoy the show. Just do me a favor and don't tell me if I totally suck, okay?"

"You couldn't suck if you tried." Zach pauses and grins. "Or, well, actually..."

"Hey! Be good," Jon warns. He points a finger dramatically as he walks off, out of sight, leaving Zach by himself once again. A few seconds later, Ingrid brings him that cappuccino, apologizing profusely for the mix-up. Zach thanks her and sips the drink, checking his watch for the time.

Thirty minutes until the curtain goes up. Two hours and forty-five minutes before it comes back down. Zach is pretty sure Jon's performance will be brilliant enough to keep him awake throughout. Pretty sure.

*

A few hours later and Zach is ashamed to admit to himself that he ever doubted Jon's ability to keep him awake and entertained. Jon is a force on the stage, funny and engaging and bursting with energy. Zach is so entranced by his performance from start to finish that he ends up sporting a semi-hard throughout the play. It's like some kind of talent boner. He never knew he could get a talent boner, but here it is, poking knowingly against his artfully dyed jeans. He just hopes that no one notices it during the standing ovation, considering that all eyes should be on the actors taking their bows.

He's buzzing with happy feelings after that, the excellent high that one gets from having witnessed a truly inspiring piece of art. Zach doesn't even mind when he stands and spies the guy in the row behind him obviously texting or tweeting about him on his phone, shooting him surreptitious glances. The gossip mill is always churning, whether it's in the US or the UK. Zach finds he can't bring himself to care. All he wants to do is go backstage, find Jon, and steal him away to a dark corner somewhere for some heavy-duty groping.

This time, he's actually allowed to go backstage, now that he and Dave are properly acquainted. The man grunts and lets him through and Zach barely takes two steps before he's attacked by a slightly sweaty and handsy Jonathan Groff. Jon's practically vibrating with that post-show excitement that Zach knows all too well, and his arms are wrapped tightly around Zach's body, like a hyperactive barnacle. Zach embraces him back, laughing as he squeezes him.

" _You_!" he exclaims. "You are so..."

"Oh, god, I told you; don't tell me if I sucked. My heart can't take it. I need to go on in this life thinking that you find me flawless."

"Jesus, are you kidding? You _are_ flawless. You're ridiculous. I can't decide whether I'm totally in awe of you or jealous beyond words."

"Can't you be both?" Jon lifts his head and grins. Zach can see the makeup mingling with his sweat by his temples, the light smudges of kohl beneath his lower eyelids. He touches his thumb gently to Jon's bottom lip and feels an answering throb in his groin when Jon nuzzles his fingers.

"Yes. And add 'totally ready to jump your bones' to the list, while we're at it. Now hurry up. Go wash your face and get your things so we can get the hell out of here already."

Jon flashes him another smile. "Don't have to tell me twice," he says, before he runs off.

*

When they step outside, Zach gasps when he sees that there's a black, shiny limousine waiting for them.

"Surpri—" Jon gets out, before Zach shoves him bodily into the backseat. He barely escapes smacking his head into the car's metal framework. "Hey, watch out for my face, I need that!"

Zach clambers in behind him and shuts the door. "You're right. It's extremely pretty and I'd hate to ruin it. The rest of you, however..." He runs a fingertip down Jon's chest, toying with the buttons of his coat. Jon squirms slightly against the leather seat and then leans forward to speak to the driver.

"Ah...you have the address I gave you earlier?"

The driver nods curtly. "Yes, sir."

Then the divider window rolls up, obscuring their view of the man in the front seat. Jon turns and gives Zach a devious little smile that turns his insides to jelly, then grabs him and all-out _devours_ his mouth. Zach holds onto Jon's arms for dear life and kisses back for all he's worth, managing to speak breathy words between all the sucks and nips and licks.

"You...mmm, god. Where—where are we going again?"

"My flat. Figured I could make you a late dinner tonight and breakfast in the morning. And by dinner, I mean sex. And by breakfast, I mean sex. We're gonna have sex, did you know?"

Zach breaks away and blinks at Jon in amazement. "I don't know what's hotter: all this talk about replacing meals with sex, or you calling an apartment a 'flat.'"

Jon laughs. "I'm soaking up the lingo!" Zach rolls his eyes.

"And your international flair is very alluring indeed, but less talk and more making out, please."

Jon smirks at Zach, a knowing glint in his eyes. "You're the boss," he says, three little words that he _knows_ will hit every single one of Zach's buttons. Zach loves being the boss, it's true. And while he doesn't expect or want his partners to be completely submissive, he likes them to be a little sweet, a lot willing. Playful and eager to please. And Jon, with his bright eyes and rosy cheeks and impish smile, fits the bill perfectly. He's Zach's darling, Zach's sweetheart, and it's been a lonely few months without him.

Zach shudders with a sudden surge of desire and pushes Jon against the seat, claiming his mouth again. Suddenly, he can't wait until they get to Jon's "flat"—he has to touch and kiss Jon all over, right _now_. Zach sweeps his tongue into Jon's mouth, relishing all the little sounds emanating from his throat, and gets to work on those coat buttons, working blindly until they're all undone and the thick fabric is pushed off and shoved aside. Jon makes quick work of Zach's coat as well, then immediately goes for the fly of his jeans, untucking his shirt and mouthing at the dark hair fanning over Zach's lower stomach. Zach tilts his head back with a groan; when he looks down again, Jon is kneeling on the floor of the limo, lips bitten and hair mussed in the most delightful picture of debauchery.

It's a good thing Jon's getting his cock out, Zach thinks, because it's liable to bust a seam in his jeans otherwise.

"Gonna suck you," Jon murmurs, as if in warning. He strokes Zach slowly, teasingly, and flicks his tongue against the head. Zach hasn't had sex with _anyone_ since he last saw Jon, so he has to physically stop himself from shoving the poor boy's head down where he wants it.

"Do it," he says—half-growls, really. And two seconds later, it feels like he's melting into the plush warmth of Jon's mouth. Jon bobs up and down in a practiced rhythm, swirls his tongue wetly, and he's so good, so sweet. Zach spares a quick thought for the driver, but hell, the partition is up and the windows are tinted and they're barely moving anyway, due to the traffic, so why not sit back and enjoy? He runs his thumbs over Jon's cheekbones, pronounced from the delicious suction, and he swears he can feel Jon _purr_ in response. "Rub yourself," Zach orders, relishing the way Jon's hand flies between his legs immediately. "But don't come. And don't...don't make me come, either."

Jon makes an affirmative sound, palming the growing erection that's still trapped inside his dark rinse jeans. The distraction throws Jon off his game a little, and the blowjob becomes a bit sloppy, but it feels even better that way. Zach's hips twitch just as the car hits a mild bump in the road, and he can feel the tip of his cock hit the back of Jon's throat. Jon doesn't gag, though, just moans around the dick in his mouth. When Zach peers down to make sure Jon is okay, he's met with the sight of wide eyes, fully blown with black heat.

"Fuck, get off, get up," he pants. Jon pulls away and scrambles back up onto the seat, immediately crawling into Zach's lap. They kiss furiously again as Zach works on Jon's clothes, tugging at each other's lips with the edges of their teeth. As soon as Jon's jeans are pushed down and his T-shirt lifted to reveal his toned torso, Zach wrestles him onto his back, splaying him across the seat. He leans down to tongue Jon's nipples until they're nice and hard, and jacks his dick with firm, measured strokes. Jon makes the most amazing sounds, his back arching off the black leather as Zach plays him like his favorite instrument. He gasps Zach's name, wild with desire, and that's all the encouragement Zach needs to line up their bodies and give them the friction they both need so desperately.

" _Zach_ , oh _fuck_ ," Jon hisses. His hands fly all over Zach's back until one settles on his ass and squeezes. Zach grunts and rocks down, relishing the feel of another person's flesh against his, at long last. Jon tilts his chin down to kiss him messily, to rub their faces together. "Won't last, can't...haven't been with anyone since..."

"Me neither," Zach says, momentarily stunned that Jon has abstained as well. They never made a pact about it or anything; Zach just...hasn't wanted to. He's been waiting for this. He ducks his head to mouth at Jon's pale neck, remembering at the last second not to leave any visible marks and nipping his earlobe instead. His hips thrust so quickly, it's like they have a mind of their own at this point. Zach goes on autopilot, lets his body take what it needs. "Fuck, I'm gonna come all over you. You want that?"

"Oh, god, yes, _yes_!" Jon gasps and splays his legs farther apart, as if presenting himself to Zach for his pleasure. It drives Zach fucking _nuts_. "Do it first, do it, do it..."

Zach may like to be the boss, but he can't really say no to that. He leans down and kisses Jon hungrily, one hand fisted in Jon's silky curls as he rolls his hips in tight knots to tease him. It's Jon's needy little sounds that end up driving him over the edge. Zach's world narrows to the hot puffs of air against his lips as he thrusts through a delirious, long-overdue orgasm, shooting over Jon's bare stomach. Jon looks on with desperate eyes, his cock flushed deep red by now, and Zach relishes the sight of him. As soon as he collects himself, he slides his free hand along Jon's side, rubs his come into Jon's skin and paints a glistening trail up his chest, circling a nipple. Jon trembles, his mouth falling open with a wordless groan and his hips bucking frantically. Zach takes a long moment to appreciate how beautiful Jon looks before he takes mercy on him and wraps that same sticky hand around Jon's straining dick.

Four quick strokes, a dirty murmur in Jon's ear, and it's all over. Zach bites his lip, totally transfixed as a wave of deep longing washes over him, the strange desire to keep every detail of this moment for himself.

The car jolts beneath them as the traffic finally ebbs, snapping Zach back to reality. He blinks and looks at Jon, catching his sated smile.

"Hey again," Jon says, playful as ever. "I lost you there." He reaches over and grabs a box from the floor, holding it out for Zach. "Tissue?"

"You're ridiculous," Zach murmurs. "Once again." He laughs faintly and takes a couple of tissues to help Jon with the clean-up effort. Jon just grins and shrugs.

"Provided by the limo company. I had a feeling we wouldn't make it."

"You were so right." Zach balls up the tissues and shoves them in his pocket, too embarrassed to leave them on the floor for someone else to find. "I know you said we'd replace meals with sex, which I'm all for doing, but you might have to feed me something if you want a repeat performance."

"I think I can manage that. Since you insist."

They both sit up properly and manage to get dressed again, though Zach frowns at how rumpled his clothes are now. He tries in vain to smooth down his shirt, until Jon sighs and smacks his hand lightly.

"Stop fussing. No one's going to see you but me and the driver. And I'm sure he's well aware of what just happened."

"I know that." Zach gives up, noting that his shirt is suddenly missing a strategically located button anyway. Still, he feels fidgety, like something needs to be done or said. It isn't until he stops paying attention to his clothes and looks over at Jon, his profile elegant and crisp against the backdrop London's tinted cityscape, that he realizes what that is. "I didn't know you were waiting," he says quietly. Jon looks at him curiously, his eyes sparkling.

"I didn't know you were, either."

Zach smiles. "I guess we never said."

"We're such slackers."

In his head, Zach starts mapping out time again—except it's not a countdown to seeing Jon, but rather the precious hours left before Zach leaves him. When Jon murmurs that they're almost there, Zach isn't sure what exactly compels him to reach out and take Jon's hand. But it's definitely something special; probably the same thing that originally called to him and brought him here. So he trusts it. He goes with it. And by the look on Jon's face, it's worth it.


End file.
